V
A SENSITIVE SOUL SEEKS SALVE
As Mr. Feuerstein left Hilda on the previous Sunday night he promisedto meet her in Tompkins Square the next evening--at the band concert.She walked up and down with Sophie, her spirits gradually sinking afterhalf-past eight and a feeling of impending misfortune settling inclose. She was not conscious of the music, though the second part ofthe program contained the selections from Wagner which she loved best.She feverishly searched the crowd and the half-darkness beyond. Sheimagined that every approaching tall man was her lover. With thefrankness to which she had been bred she made no concealment of herheart-sick anxiety.
"He may have to be at the theater," said Sophie, herself extremelyuneasy. Partly through shrewdness, partly through her natural suspicionof strangers, she felt that Mr. Feuerstein, upon whom she was building,was not a rock.
"No," replied Hilda. "He told me he wouldn't be at the theater, butwould surely come here." The fact that her lover had said so settledit to her mind.
They did not leave the Square until ten o'clock, when it was almostdeserted and most of its throngs of an hour before were in bed sleepingsoundly in the content that comes from a life of labor. And when shedid get to bed she lay awake for nearly an hour, tired though she was.Without doubt some misfortune had befallen him--"He's been hurt or isill," she decided. The next morning she stood in the door of the shopwatching for the postman on his first round; as he turned the corner ofSecond Street, she could not restrain herself, but ran to meet him.
"Any letter for me?" she inquired in a voice that compelled him to feelpersonal guilt in having to say "No."
It was a day of mistakes in weights and in making up packages, a day ofvain searching for some comforting explanation of Mr. Feuerstein'sfailure and silence. After supper Sophie came and they went to theSquare, keeping to the center of it where the lights were brightest andthe people fewest.
"I'm sure something's happened," said Sophie. "Maybe Otto has told hima story--or has--"
"No--not Otto." Hilda dismissed the suggestion as impossible. She hadknown Otto too long and too well to entertain for an instant the ideathat he could be underhanded. "There's only one reason--he's sick,very sick--too sick to send word."
"Let's go and see," said Sophie, as if she had not planned it hoursbefore.
Hilda hesitated. "It might look as if I--" She did not finish.
"But you needn't show yourself," replied Sophie. "You can wait downthe street and I'll go up to the door and won't give my name."
Hilda clasped her arm more tightly about Sophie's waist and they setout. They walked more and more swiftly until toward the last they werealmost running. At the corner of Fifteenth Street and First AvenueHilda stopped. "I'll go through to Stuyvesant Square," she said, "andwait there on a bench near the Sixteenth Street entrance. You'll bequick, won't you?"
Sophie went to Mr. Feuerstein's number and rang. After a long wait aslovenly girl in a stained red wrapper, her hair in curl-papers and onestocking down about her high-heeled slipper, opened the door and said:"What do you want? I sent the maid for a pitcher of beer."
"I want to ask about Mr. Feuerstein," replied Sophie.
The girl's pert, prematurely-wrinkled face took on a quizzical smile."Oh!" she said. "You can go up to his room. Third floor, back. Knockhard--he's a heavy sleeper."
Sophie climbed the stairs and knocked loudly. "Come!" was the answerin German, in Mr. Feuerstein's deep stage-voice.
She opened the door a few inches and said through the crack: "It's me,Mr. Feuerstein--Sophie Liebers--from down in Avenue A--Hilda's friend."
"Come in," was Mr. Feuerstein's reply, in a weary voice, after a pause.From Ganser's he had come straight home and had been sitting there eversince, depressed, angry, perplexed.
Sophie pushed the door wide and stood upon the threshold. "Hilda's overin Stuyvesant Square," she said. "She thought you might be sick, so wecame. But if you go to her, you must pretend you came by accident anddidn't see me."
Mr. Feuerstein reflected, but not so deeply that he neglected to posebefore Sophie as a tragedy-king. And it called for little pretense, sodesperate and forlorn was he feeling. Should he go or should he sendSophie about her business? There was no hope that the rich brewerwould take him in; there was every reason to suspect that Peter wouldarrange to have the marriage quietly annulled. At most he could get afew thousands, perhaps only hundreds, by threatening a scandal. Yes,it would be wise, on the whole, to keep little Hilda on the string.
"I am very ill," he said gloomily, "but I will go."
Sophie felt hopeful and energetic again. "I won't come up to her tillyou leave her."
"You are a good girl--a noble creature." Mr. Feuerstein took her handand pretended to be profoundly moved by her friendship.
Sophie gave him a look of simplicity and warm-heartedness. Her talentfor acting had not been spoiled by a stage experience. "Hilda's myfriend," she said earnestly. "And I want to see her happy."
"Noble creature!" exclaimed Mr. Feuerstein. "May God reward you!" Andhe dashed his hand across his eyes.
He went to the mirror on his bureau, carefully arranged the yellowaureole, carefully adjusted the soft light hat. Then with feeble stephe descended the stairs. As he moved down the street his face wasmournful and his shoulders were drooped--a stage invalid. When Hildasaw him coming she started up and gave a little cry of delight; but asshe noted his woebegone appearance, a very real paleness came to hercheeks and very real tears to her great dark eyes.
Mr. Feuerstein sank slowly into the seat beside her. "Soul's wife," hemurmured. "Ah--but I have been near to death. The strain of theinterview with your father--the anguish--the hope--oh, what a curse itis to have a sensitive soul! And my old trouble"--he laid his handupon his heart and slowly shook his head--"returned. It will end mesome day."
Hilda was trembling with sympathy. She put her hand upon his. "If youhad only sent word, dear," she said reproachfully, "I would have come.Oh--I do love you so, Carl! I could hardly eat or sleep--and--"
"The truth would have been worse than silence," he said in a hollowvoice. He did not intend the double meaning of his remark; the Ganserswere for the moment out of his mind, which was absorbed in his acting."But it is over for the present--yes, over, my priceless pearl. I cancome to see you soon. If I am worse I shall send you word."
"But can't I come to see you?"
"No, bride of my dreams. It would not be--suitable. We must respectthe little conventions. You must wait until I come."
His tone was decided. She felt that he knew best. In a few minutes herose. "I must return to my room," he said wearily. "Ah, heart'sdelight, it is terrible for a strong man to find himself thus weak.Pity me. Pray for me."
He noted with satisfaction her look of love and anxiety. It was someslight salve to his cruelly wounded vanity. He walked feebly away, butit was pure acting, as he no longer felt so downcast. He had soon putHilda into the background and was busy with his plans for revenge uponGanser--"a vulgar animal who insulted me when I honored him by marryinghis ugly gosling." Before he fell asleep that night he had himselfwrought up to a state of righteous indignation. Ganser had cheated,had outraged him--him, the great, the noble, the eminent.
Early the next morning he went down to a dingy frame building thatcowered meanly in the shadow of the Criminal Court House. He mounted acreaking flight of stairs and went in at a low door on which "Loeb,Lynn, Levy and McCafferty" was painted in black letters. In the narrowentrance he brushed against a man on the way out, a man with a hangdoglook and short bristling hair and the pastily-pallid skin that comesfrom living long away from the sunlight. Feuerstein shiveredslightly--was it at the touch of such a creature or at the suggestionshis appearance started? In front of him was a ground-glass partitionwith five doors in it. At a dirty greasy pine table sat a boy--one ofthose child veterans the big city develops. He had a long andextremely narrow head. His eyes were close togethe
r, sharp and shifty.His expression was sophisticated and cynical. "Well, sir!" he saidwith curt impudence, giving Feuerstein a gimlet-glance.
"I want to see Mr. Loeb." Feuerstein produced a card--it was one ofhis last remaining half-dozen and was pocket-worn.
The office boy took it with unveiled sarcasm in his eyes and in thecorners of his mouth. He disappeared through one of the five doors,almost immediately reappeared at another, closed it mysteriously behindhim and went to a third door. He threw it open and stood aside. "Atthe end of the hall," he said. "The door with Mr. Loeb's name on it.Knock and walk right in."
Feuerstein followed the directions and found himself in a dingy littleroom, smelling of mustiness and stale tobacco, and lined with lawbooks, almost all on crime and divorce. Loeb, Lynn, Levy andMcCafferty were lawyers to the lower grades of the criminal and shadyonly. They defended thieves and murderers; they prosecuted or defendedscandalous divorce cases; they packed juries and suborned perjury andthey tutored false witnesses in the way to withstand cross-examination.In private life they were four home-loving, law-abiding citizens.
Loeb looked up from his writing and said with contemptuous cordiality:"Oh--Mr. Feuerstein. Glad to see you--AGAIN. What's the trouble--NOW?"
At "again" and "now" Feuerstein winced slightly. He looked nervouslyat Loeb.
"It's been--let me see--at least seven years since I saw you,"continued Loeb, who was proud of his amazing memory. He was a squat,fat man, with a coarse brown skin and heavy features. He was carefullygroomed and villainously perfumed and his clothes were in the extremeof the loudest fashion. A diamond of great size was in his bright-bluescarf; another, its match, loaded down his fat little finger. Bothcould be unscrewed and set in a hair ornament which his wife wore atfirst nights or when they dined in state at Delmonico's. As he studiedFeuerstein, his face had its famous smile, made by shutting his teethtogether and drawing his puffy lips back tightly from them.
"That is all past and gone," said Feuerstein. "As a lad I was saved byyou from the consequences of boyish folly. And now, a man grown, Icome to you to enlist your aid in avenging an insult to my honor, an--"
"Be as brief as possible," cut in Loeb. "My time is much occupied.The bald facts, please--FACTS, and BALD."
Feuerstein settled himself and prepared to relate his story as if hewere on the stage, with the orchestra playing low and sweet. "I met awoman and loved her," he began in a deep, intense voice with apassionate tremolo.
"A bad start," interrupted Loeb. "If you go on that way, we'll neverget anywhere. You're a frightful fakir and liar, Feuerstein. Youwere, seven years ago; of course, the habit's grown on you. Speak out!What do you want? As your lawyer, I must know things exactly as theyare."
"I ran away with a girl--the daughter of the brewer, Peter Ganser,"said Feuerstein, sullen but terse. "And her father wouldn't receiveme--shut her up--put me out."
"And you want your wife?"
"I want revenge."
"Of course--cash. Well, Ganser's a rich man. I should say he'd giveup a good deal to get rid of YOU." Loeb gave that mirthless andmirth-strangling smile as he accented the "you."
"He's got to give up!" said Feuerstein fiercely.
"Slowly! Slowly!" Loeb leaned forward and looked into Feuerstein'sface. "You mustn't forget."
Feuerstein's eyes shifted rapidly as he said in a false voice: "She gota divorce years ago."
"M-m-m," said Loeb.
"Anyhow, she's away off in Russia."
"I don't want you to confess a crime you haven't come to me about,"said Loeb, adding with peculiar emphasis: "Of course, if we KNEW youwere still married to the Mrs. Feuerstein of seven years ago wecouldn't take the present case. As it is--the best way is to bluff theold brewer. He doesn't want publicity; neither do you. But you knowhe doesn't, and he doesn't know that you love quiet."
"Ganser treated me infamously. He must sweat for it. I'm nothing ifnot a good hater."
"No doubt," said Loeb dryly. "And you have rights which the lawsafeguards."
"What shall I do?"
"Leave that to us. How much do you want--how much damages?"
"He ought to pay at least twenty-five thousand."
Loeb shrugged his shoulders. "Ridiculous!" he said. "Possibly the fivewithout the twenty. And how do you expect to pay us?"
"I'm somewhat pressed just at the moment. But I thought"--Feuersteinhalted.
"That we'd take the case as a speculation? Well, to oblige an oldclient, we will. But you must agree to give us all we can get over andabove five thousand--half what we get if it's below that."
"Those are hard terms," remonstrated Feuerstein. The more he hadthought on his case, the larger his expectations had become.
"Very generous terms, in the circumstances. You can take it or leaveit."
"I can't do anything without you. I accept."
"Very well." Loeb took up his pen, as if he were done with Feuerstein,but went on: "And you're SURE that the--the FORMER Mrs. Feuerstein isdivorced--and won't turn up?"
"Absolutely. She swore she'd never enter any country where I was."
"Has she any friends who are likely to hear of this?"
"She knew no one here."
"All right. Go into the room to the left there. Mr. Travis or Mr.Gordon will take your statement of the facts--names, dates, alldetails. Good morning."
Feuerstein went to Travis, small and sleek, smooth and sly. WhenTravis had done with him, he showed him out. "Call day afterto-morrow," he said, "and when you come, ask for me. Mr. Loeb neverbothers with these small cases."
Travis reported to Loeb half an hour later, when Feuerstein's statementhad been typewritten. Loeb read the statement through twice with greatcare.
"Most complete, Mr. Travis," was his comment. "You've done a goodpiece of work." He sat silent, drumming noiselessly on the table withhis stumpy, hairy, fat fingers. At last he began: "It ought to beworth at least twenty thousand. Do you know Ganser?"
"Just a speaking acquaintance."
"Excellent. What kind of a man is he?"
"Stupid and ignorant, but not without a certain cunning. We can get athim all right, though. He's deadly afraid of social scandal. Wants toget into the German Club and become a howling swell. But he don'tstand a chance, though he don't know it."
"You'd better go to see him yourself," said Loeb.
"I'll be glad to do it, Mr. Loeb. Isn't your man--this Feuerstein--agood bit to the queer?"
"A dead beat--one of the worst kind--the born gentleman. You'venoticed, perhaps, that where a man or woman has been brought up to livewithout work, to live off other people's work, there's nothing theywouldn't stoop to, to keep on living that way. As for this chap, if hehad got started right, he'd be operating up in the Fifth Avenuedistrict. He used to have a wife. He SAYS he's divorced."
Loeb and Travis looked each at the other significantly. "I see," saidTravis.
"Neither side wants scandal. Still, I think you're right, thatGanser's good for twenty thousand."
"You can judge better after you've felt him," replied Loeb. "You'dbetter go at once. Give him the tip that Feuerstein's about to forcehim to produce his daughter in court. But you understand. Try toinduce him to go to Beck." Travis grinned and Loeb's eyes twinkled."You might lay it on strong about Feuerstein's actor-craze for gettinginto the papers."
"That's a grand idea," exclaimed Travis. "I don't think I'll suggestany sum if he agrees to go to Beck. Beck can get at least fivethousand more out of him than any other lawyer in town."
"Beck's the wonder," said Loeb.
"LOEB and Beck," corrected Travis in a flattering tone.
Loeb waved his hot, fat head gently to and fro as if a pleasant coolingstream were being played upon it. "I think I have got a 'pretty goodnut on me,' as John L. used to say," he replied. "I think I do know alittle about the law. And now hustle yourself, my boy. This case mustbe pushed. The less time Ganser has to look ab
out, the better for--ourclient."
Travis found Ganser in his office at the brewery. The old man's facewas red and troubled.
"I've come on very unpleasant business, Mr. Ganser," said Travis withdeference. "As you know, I am with Loeb, Lynn, Levy and McCafferty.Our client, Mr. Feuerstein--"
Ganser leaped to his feet, apoplectic.
"Get out!" he shouted, "I don't speak with you!"
"As an officer of the court, Mr. Ganser," said Travis suavely, "it ismy painful duty to insist upon a hearing. We lawyers can't select ourclients. We must do our best for all comers. Our firm has sent me outof kindly feeling for you. We are all men of family, like yourself,and, when the case was forced on us, we at once tried to think how wecould be of service to you--of course, while doing our full legal dutyby our client. I've come in the hope of helping you to avoid thedisgrace of publicity."
"Get out!" growled Peter. "I know lawyers--they're all thieves. Getout!" But Travis knew that Peter wished him to stay.
"I needn't enlarge on our client--Mr. Feuerstein. You know he's anactor. You know how they crave notoriety. You know how eager thenewspapers are to take up and make a noise about matters of this kind."
Peter was sweating profusely, and had to seat himself. "It'soutrageous!" he groaned in German.
"Feuerstein has ordered us to have your daughter brought into court atonce--to-morrow. He's your daughter's lawful husband and she's wellbeyond the legal age. Of course, he can't compel her to live with himor you to support him. But he can force the courts to inquirepublicly. And I'm sorry to say we'll not be able to restrain him orthe press, once he gets the ball to rolling."
Peter felt it rolling over him, tons heavy. "What you talk about?" hesaid, on his guard but eager.
"It's an outrage that honest men should be thus laid open to attack,"continued Travis in a sympathetic tone. "But if the law permits theseoutrages, it also provides remedies. Your daughter's mistake may costyou a little something, but there need be no scandal."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Ganser.
"Really, I've talked too much already, Mr. Ganser. I almost forgot,for the moment, that I'm representing Mr. Feuerstein. But, as betweenfriends, I'd advise you to go to some good divorce lawyers--a firm thatis reputable but understands the ins and outs of the business, somefirm like Beck and Brown. They can tell you exactly what to do."
Ganser regarded his "friend" suspiciously but credulously. "I'll see,"he said. "But I won't pay a cent."
"Right you are, sir! And there may be a way out of it without paying.But Beck can tell you." Travis made a motion toward the inside pocketof his coat, then pretended to change his mind. "I came here to servethe papers on you," he said apologetically. "But I'll take theresponsibility of delaying--it can't make Feuerstein any less married,and your daughter's certainly safe in her father's care. I'll wait inthe hope that YOU'LL take the first step."
Ganser lost no time in going to his own lawyers--Fisher, Windisch andCarteret, in the Postal Telegraph Building. He told Windisch the wholestory. "And," he ended, "I've got a detective looking up the rascal.He's a wretch--a black wretch."
"We can't take your case, Mr. Ganser," said Windisch. "It's wholly outof our line. We don't do that kind of work. I should say Beck andBrown were your people. They stand well, and at the same time theyknow all the tricks."
"But they may play me the tricks."
"I think not. They stand well at the bar."
"Yes, yes," sneered Peter, who was never polite, was always insultinglyfrank to any one who served him for pay. "I know that bar."
"Well, Mr. Ganser," replied Windisch, angry but willing to take almostanything from a rich client, "I guess you can look out for yourself.Of course there's always danger, once you get outside the straightcourse of justice. As I understand it, your main point is nopublicity?"
"That's right," replied Ganser. "No newspapers--no trial."
"Then Beck and Brown. Drive as close a bargain as you can. But you'llhave to give up a few thousands, I'm afraid."
Ganser went over into Nassau Street and found Beck in his office. Hegazed with melancholy misgivings at this lean man with hair andwhiskers of a lifeless black. Beck suggested a starved black spider,especially when you were looking into his cold, amused, malignant blackeyes. He made short work of the guileless brewer, who was dazed andfrightened by the meshes in which he was enveloped. Staring at thehorrid specter of publicity which these men of craft kept before him,he could not vigorously protest against extortion. Beck discoveredthat twenty thousand was his fighting limit.
"Leave the matter entirely in our hands," said Beck. "We'll make thebest bargain we can. But Feuerstein has shrewd lawyers--none better.That man Loeb--" Beck threw up his arms. "Of course," he continued, "Ihad to know your limit. I'll try to make the business as cheap for youas possible."
"Put 'em off," said Ganser. "My Lena's sick."
His real reason was his hopes from the reports on Feuerstein's past,which his detective would make. But he thought it was not necessary totell Beck about the detective.